Harry Potter & the galloping geezers of Wimbleton
by Potter Authority
Summary: WARNING! OFFENSIVE CONTENT A pool full of awesome explodes into JK Rowling's world. Tides will turn, rivers will run with the blood of the innocent & nothing will ever be quite the same again


Harry Potter And The Galloping Geezers Of Wimbleton  
  
A Tale By Potter Authority, The Foremost Authority On All Things Harry Potter  
  
On one fine spring day Harry was stuck yet again in a dronathon lecture at Hugwarts wizard school. Yet again the class was going over how to summon their master, Satan, through the forces of abysmally dark spells of spookily spooky doom. Harry's mind began to wander away from Dumbledore's instructions on how to skin an un-baptized infant alive and boil its fat to please the dark one. He found himself a much more important topic to learn, which was what kind of panties Hermine Granger was wearing today. Fortunately he discovered that they were pink on account of them poking up above her tights as she sat in front of him. However, Harry must've felt that the dainty undergarments have the possibility of changing color, for after he came to his initial conclusion he kept his eyes on the dainty cotton undergarments for a considerable period of time further.

It is highly likely that he would've retained his transfixed gaze if Dumbledore hadn't summoned Beelzebub at last. But since he did, the whole class was forced to get up out of their seats and plant a fat wet kiss on ol' Diablo's heinie as according to the rules of evil magic. Harry of course possessed a class A Middle School "I just saw a girlie's underoos" chubby at that point, but he rose from his seat unconcerned on account of how he could just blame his excitement of the dark lord.

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Clarice had just finished the third paragraph of her Harry Potter fan fiction as the fading chords of her Alanis Morissette CD passed away into memory. It was titled "Harry Potter and his Chimeric Ruby" and she was quite proud of it. It was filled to the brim with words such as "bloody", "wanker", "blighty", and numerous references to Monty Python. Therefore, it was like, totally British. At once she posted it on some fan fiction website and eagerly awaited some feedback to validate her otherwise pointless existence. She waited and waited and continued to wait for hours on end. By minute forty-five she had eaten her last Funyon and therefore carnage would ensue upon the poor soul of any sibling unfortunate enough to demand she get her fat ass off the computer and let them take over. Finally, she got a response. Eagerly she double clicked the e-mail envelope and read the contents inside. It went along the lines of…..

"Poseur American! How fucking dare you attempt to stain your unworthy Yankee writing style upon our beloved Harry Potter character. You dumbass imperialist fucktards should be banned from writing fan fiction about our Harry, for he is too good for you and you can only befoul him. Fan fiction is a terribly important field observed by the most prestigious scholars, and it pains me to see you people ruining it. Fark off and kill yourself."  
  
Clarice was befuddled. She had seen the film Trainspotting numerous times. Certainly she knew enough about British people to pose as one of them undetected. This girl knew that she had to get to the bottom of this, and she swiftly kicked her little brother away from the family PC and got to work.

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After the Satanic rimmer, Harry and Ron Weasley retired to their shared bedchambers to discuss various things going down in their adolescent lives. After a discussion of boring crap like how Dumbledore can shove his hand up a lady's snatch and rip the fetus out in order to satiate the dark master's lust for Christian suffering, Ron got to what he really wanted to say to Harry and sputtered out "Yo dawg, I wuz noticin' how youse wuz givin' the ol' eye over to that Hermine bitch's booty bling bling. Damn, jive turkey, you weren't ain't eva gonna spectin' that fine azz, huh? Bling bling." Harry knew that this query was an inevitability, and responded with… "As if you never looked at a girl's fanny."

"Yeah, I knows that much dawg. But, whys youse gots ta go after that stuck up ho? Bling bling. She's tha type o' cunt that'll make ya reconsida the prospects of a life of turkey chokin' bling bling."

"Well, it's obvious that a permanent relationship between me and Hermine would fall apart faster than a constipated old man's colon. But, I'm not exactly seeking that kind of thing with her."

"Right on dawg! Findum, Fuckum, and Flee! NWA mofo, represent!!!" Ron then extended his clenched fist, expecting Harry to knock it back with his. Being a cool type of dude who is down with the pseudo-ebonic wigger dialect, he quickly pounded back. After that brief interlude, Harry speedily got back on track.

"I want her so bad Ron, but it's obvious that she won't even breathe in the same area as me. What'll I do?"

"Good axing dawg, but shoot me nine times like Fiddy if I gots me a damn clue. That bitch be an ice queen of tha highest order. She prolly gots a layer of frost on her cootchie that'll freeze fish sticks HAW HAW HAW! But seriously yo, I ain't tha expert on how ta fuck Hermine, since she's on a da few bitches I ain't slunk my tubesteak inta."

"Oh fudge. What'll I do?"

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The first thing Clarice did was seek out the fan fiction that her limey attacker produced. This was relatively simple since nobody criticizes fan fiction unless they perpetrate it themselves and the harsher the critic, the more proud they are of their output. Soon she stumbled upon the man's fic page, which was titled "The Bestest Fic Page in The British Empire, And Therefore The World". Perusing his archives, Clarice learned far more about this woman than necessary.  
To start it off, Clarice found it terribly odd that this chick would attack her Harry Potter authenticity when she regularly churns out tales involving Captain Picard and Luke Skywalker competing in the Ass Faggots Butt Tickler Rodeo. Frankly, she wasn't too keen on even acknowledging that Patrick Stewart and Mark Hamill had genitals, much less the idea of the two using them on each other. Upon further investigation Clarice found that all of this English person's Harry Potter fan fiction involved words such as "knickers" and "snog" at about the same level as hers. Perplexed, Clarice questioned what her next move should be.

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Perplexed at what his next move should be, Harry called up his best friend in the whole world, Mao Zedong. He was currently having a hot poker shoved up his ass in hell. Harry asked Chairman Mao how he used to deal with girl issues back in the days of his mortal life, to which the former dictator responded with "AAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!! AHHHGHHGHGHGH!!! AHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!" Harry continued….

"The thing is, I'm very much attracted to this girl, but I know that just about every plausible scenario of a romantic relationship between the two of us would end in one or both of us dying by the others hand. All I really want to do with her is fulfill my carnal instincts. What do you think?"

"AGHHHHHHHHH!!!! AIEEEEEEEE!!! AHHHGHGHGH!!! IEEEEAHHHHHHH!!!!!"

" But then again, most girls can't really handle a sex only relationship. I don't think I could either, to tell you the truth. Even if I start the whole mess, I'll still feel a little used, y'know?"

"EEEEEEEAHHHHHHH!!!!! AHHHHGHHHHHH!!! EAHHHHHHIEEEEE!!!!!" Harry couldn't speak screamed Chinese, so he politely thanked Mao for allowing him to whine at him and set on his way to Hagrid's house. Harry knew that all the ladies must dig a guy like Hagrid, so he decided to solicit some romantic advice from him. On the way, Harry encountered Ron, who claimed that he had jus' wrapped up some hardcore tree blazin' bling bling. The duo pressed on to Hagrid's swanky bachelor digs, but on the way they encountered Draco Malfoy, everybody's least favorite Culkin brother.

Ron quickly belted out…"Yo yo yo! It's that whack ass homey thas all alone in his hizzy and slaps his hands on his face an hollas an shit bling bling. Man, we gots us some major 'AAAHHHHH!' action goin' down now, y'know what I'm sayin' bling bling?"

"Frankly phony, I sincerely doubt the brothers in your so called 'hood' would very much appreciate the pilfering of their pseudo gangster culture you defile our ears with on a regular basis" Draco retorted with.

"Y'all jus be hatin', fool! I'm a straight up down gangsta, bling bling. Hell, I'm a gangstar! HAW HAW HAW bling bling!!!" Harry grew tired of Draco already. He wanted to figure out how to sneak into Hermine's nether regions without any emotional aftermath by tonight, and he knew Draco wanted to get in his way like he always did. Firmly, Harry punched out a demand of "Either challenge me to another fight you'll lose or get back to the hole you crawled out of, Draco. I don't have all day." Draco was not overwhelmingly pleased by this insolence.

"Ha! Just because you bested me in our last eighty seven duels doesn't mean that you'll triumph again! Prepare to lose in a mortifying manner, you loser!" Harry pulled out his wand, muttered a few blessings to Lucifer as he sprinkled crusted virgin blood around him, and prepared to counter Draco's attack.

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Clarice decided to attack her attacker in the most savage way an overweight twenty four year old shut-in that lives in her parent's basement can possibly attack. In other words, she posted a call-out thread on their fan fiction site's message board. In it, she called her attacker a sniveling crybaby, a poseur who was just riding the Harry Potter train because it was trendy, and even threw back a counter accusation of just pretending to be British. Within two seconds her former assailant had typed out a strongly worded argument where she called Clarice a fraud and then whined to the mod to lock the thread on account of its nature. The internet curmudgeon then began three threads of the same nature, assaulting from all angles Clarice's "true" devotion to Harry Potter, her storytelling prowess, and worst of all, her nation of origin. It was an ugly contest of will that day, an ugly contest of will.

On the next day Clarice was horrified to discover that while she was sleeping her attacker had spent even more time slandering her good name. She posted links to her fan fiction site centered on spelling errors, Harry Potter continuity fuck ups, and minor mistakes on quoting Monty Python dialogue. Knowing that this kind of thing would ruin her in the eyes of the fan fiction community, Clarice sank into a depression besting that time she finished the last funyon before getting a response to her story. She had no idea how she would go on without the approval of strangers who use the internet as a way to be the assholes they're too wussy to be in real life.

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Draco raised his wand melodramatically and belted out "Aehrraid!", which obviously made Ron shit himself.

"Hey! Whassup whichoo homes bling bling?!! Dat ain't fair bling bling. I calls a foul bling bling!! Ain't no way you should makes me grease my drawers bling bling!!!"

"Shut up twit. I was just showing Harry my power by embarrassing your rookie ass with its own poop." Draco sneered. "And as for you, four eyes, seibab kcarc!" It goes without saying that a horde of flying crack babies suddenly found themselves zooming towards Harry's head, with the not so nice command to mash it into paste upon the ground below no less.

"Yo yo yo! They be like da Wu-Tang killah beez on da swarm an' shit bling bling." Ron belted out in fear. If his bowels had not been so recently and so forcefully evacuated, he surely would've pooted out a little something just then.

Harry, however, was unmoved. Firmly clutching his magic wand, Harry bellowed out " Yarps htaed mlapan!!" Unsurprisingly, bursts of white hot flame shot out of his wand and into the onslaught of jittery crack babies, who only got even more jittery on account of the burning and all. A rich cooking aroma arouse from the ever increasing pile of sizzling babies as their skin crackled off and baked their fledgling intestines into tripe. This, of course, made Ron vomit, which made the incidents of fluid leaving his body over the day rise of to a whopping thirty seven. (One for the poop, one for the vomit, and the rest over underwear ads in the newspaper) Before too long, every crack baby Draco had summoned to kill Harry had been given the Colonel Sanders treatment. But, before Harry could go on there was one more thing left to do.  
"You have been bested yet again in personal combat Draco!" Harry angrily shouted out. "And, I'm tired of having to play opponent to your gigantic ego. So, I'm going to end our little game in the only lasting way it can be ended. Draco, tahssa!" His limbs under another's control, Draco couldn't stop himself from pulling out a rusty hacksaw and positioning it at his left buttcheek. With a substantial amount of discomfort, Draco began sawing his own ass off, stopping only after he finished his left cheek so he could begin on the other one. After he completed the derectumization procedure, Harry willed Draco to take the two severed meat parts and place them on his head as a crude hat. Following that, Harry then forced his maimed adversary to begin staggering over to Hugwart's medical facility. Convinced that Draco would not bother him again for the remainder of the day, Harry told Ron that it is time that they continue with their trip to Hagrid's.

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As the days passed on Clarice's depression sank into deeper and deeper formats. More often than usual she was forced to turn the Star Wars and Matrix action figures on top of her bookcase away from her, for she did not wish to have them see her cry. However, her siblings did not get a reprieve from her monopolization of the computer console, for she spent more time than ever on there, loading its memory banks down with a barrage of lame poetry expressing her feelings of pain and disillusionment. Clarice did not see a light at the end of her respective tunnel, and she put it down in a way that would make even Trent Reznor wince in and empathetic curl of embarrassment.

Okay, I'll be forthright with you. I can't think of a single goddamned way to end the Clarice section of this thing in a way that doesn't make the bile in my throat grow higher to my mouth. So, you can figure it out. Find some way to say that Clarice got over the obsessive, ethnocentric, and bedwetting fans of Harry Potter, lost weight, moved out of her parent's house, finally got laid, killed the Hydra, and built a rainbow bridge to Asgard yourself. Honestly, you can't conceivably give less of a shit than me. So, let's go back to Harry and end this turkey.

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At long last Harry and Ron reached Hagrid's house. Hagrid had Superman over, and the two of them were doing what they do whenever there isn't a girl around (Which isn't that often). In other words, they got miraculously stoned and were playing movies and records at the same time to see if they synch up. When Harry and Ron barged in they were midway through Annie Hall with Ministry's The Land Of Rape And Honey on in the background. Ron, having never even seen pot before in real life, started hacking up one or both of his lungs as the thick ganja laced air proceeded into them. Superman was the first to notice the duo. A thumping bass line struck the background as he cleared his throat and uttered… "Hoo boy I can barely think, with the pestering pester of that god awful stink. As sure as birds fly and eat army ants, that red haired pussy has just shit his pants. Of course there's another possibility that I might say might, and that is that this dumbass can't clean himself right"

Hagrid raised his eyes and his nose towards Ron, following this action with saying "Do you have to come over to my house every time you shit yourself, kid?" The bass line rose to a swell as Superman chimed in with… "Golly darn it kid we just barely more than strangers, and you're expecting us to act as your diaper changers? Damn you must be pretty full out on smack, to think we put up with something that whack. Why don't you do us all a favor and begin to roam, to that smelly little structure that you dare call a home?"

"Wait!" Harry shouted out. "I need to ask you for advice regarding girl troubles." "Well, you came to the right place." Hagrid responded. "Who's the skirt?" "Its Hermine Granger. I wanna know how I can sleep with her without getting any emotional involvement."

"She's an ice queen yo bling bling." Ron added.

"Hermine?" Hagrid let out with surprise. "Hell, I've had her. Didn't you do her too Superman?"

"Hella yeah my friend she was on her knees, with the utmost intention to skip the cocktease and please. And as sure as the color of my cape is red, that girl is like the cream cheese. She'll spread spread spread. And they'll be no yakking either, you won't hear a note, cuz your hardened little cock will be down that bitch's throat." Harry was confused by Hagrid and Superman's answers. "But, she's so snobby and uptight and mean. How the hell could you get her to do those things?"

"Easily." Hagrid replied. Hermine loses the majority of her inhibitions after taking in a little alcohol. If memory serves Draco is having a keggar tonight. You should probably make your move there.

"I dunno if he'll still be doing that." "What, did you make him cut off his own ass and wear it as a hat again?"

"Yeah."

"Well, if he calls it off just invite Hermine over for some wine coolers. You can make a pass once she's properly pissed."

Superman raised his eyebrows at that prospect. "Dude, that shit won't be numbing her fears. For wine to make her drunk it'll take about ten years! Take that from me I see past all the hype. That girlie's tolerance is high like the snow is white. Once she's a little buzz you gotta make her do the harder shit. Leave it up to Superman to tell you what it is it."

"This is all moot though." Hagrid added. " She has anal warts. She gave them to you too, didn't she?" Superman said nothing, but with the way he hung his head he didn't have to.

"Sorry to burst your bubble, but I'm afraid Hermaine's inaccessible." Hagrid said. " Now run along before the stench of Ron's ass sticks to my home."

Harry and Ron left Hagrid's home in a state of shock. Before Hagrid could close the door, a thought suddenly flashed across Harry's mind. It made him turn around and yell "Hey Hagrid! Isn't it, like, illegal for you to have sex with someone as young as Hermine?" "It sure is!" Hagrid replied. Then, he quickly slammed the door and resumed the blasting of industrial metal that preceded Harry and Ron's entry.

"Daaaaaaamn dawg, it sho' does suck that Hermine's gots them anal warts bling bling. Now you'll never see your dream bling bling."

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked. "I'm still going to go for her."

"Whuzzity what dawg? Youse wants to put up with the S to the TD?."

"Obviously not, but I can easily cast them over to Draco's new hat."

"Hella yes dawg! Dat's what I'm talkin' 'bout!"

"Right. Well, we have about four hours till the keggar. Why don't we go down to the classroom and find out how to give thanks to our master the Devil by ceremoniously peeing on the Bible?"

"Giggity giggity, all right!" Ron answered. The two laughed, and walked into the sunset.


End file.
